Story of a woman who sells her flesh

You came didn’t you, yet I lure you to my vicious space, for I am the burden yet you are the beast

Answering the woman who is fighting her deeply estranged dilemma

Have you ever felt used, abused, and reused, panting in and out of breath, yet trying to experience closure amidst the forever skin-stricken armor?

People say things as they experience them, for they hail their tongues out to capture the rising Phoenix embedded and coiled under my basal extremities.

Calling, worth ending the haze in the craze of flesh, no feminine in her asinine reasoning,

Forever clutched in far-fetched captivity, chooses to torture her skin.

Social Paradoxes you had created, you made these unending lies of sorrows bereft of learning and unlearning.

Traumatized by the creator and the birthed Father and Mother themselves, puking on the range of sorrows I face, in bouts, breaths, and in my oppressor-laden emotions.

Now you tell me, I was wrong, a hoax, a mistake all along, Yet the demon you sleep with comes and reassesses his vitals to enter me to get rid of you.

Vengeful tryst and time-broadening gusty loopholes were never his strong suit, he never forces me,

Yet I never reject, for a habit formulates an addiction, yet addiction is the subtle silence in the room filled with violence.

Pleading to the populous

Nuisance, Convergence, Flatulence, a being concocted with divisions in lines and layers, fissures and fractions, actions and apologies,

It's like curating your life as you stare at the skid mark, bloat, a glitch in your run-down screens.

Yet alas, my body is mine, I am the perpetrator of a forever consumed agitator that loves to commit profanity with ease of gaze and watches the might of men befall underage women.

Yet these societal lines are never meant to be breached, reach and reach to forever preach and yet act as if nothing matters, you are not my haters but rather believers in tormenting fates, for hate and sophisticate the two dungeons of a looping morality that never ends in perpetuity.

It's neither the animal, beast, or cannibal that is killing me, it's you, your silence, your pretense, and abject ability of riddance that is taking away my life.

One day at a time.

In fractions, in believable actions, as the time ticks you watch.

With the patience of me getting eaten,

left in cold brazen,

building armor to suppress presumptuous heathen.

An eater of eating, the heater of buildings, a crawler of preachings, yet the abuser flies away to the unending dimension, sucked back out by the wormhole of populism.